Love Lessons at Midnight (17 page)

Amber understood his meaning and it was like a slap to her face. “I have never
had
a patron,” she said coldly, knowing that he would not believe her.

“Then how did you become Lady Fantasia?” He cocked his head and studied her stiff posture, wishing desperately to see behind the veil that she had replaced before leaving his mother’s parlor.

“I will not dignify that question with an answer, one you would never believe in any case. Let us not waste any more of each other’s time.” When she started to walk away, he placed his hand on her arm to restrain her. She felt a frisson of heat travel up her spine.
Must his touch always leave me this way?

“Fantasia, wait. I am making another muddle just as I did the first night we met. I did not intend to insult you…it’s just that I have felt on a few recent occasions that there was some…spark between us,” he said, knowing he was fumbling awkwardly.

Amber’s throat thickened with unshed tears.
Oh, my love, if only you knew your spark is my flame!
She swallowed and did the only thing she could think to do—lash out. “What of the spark between you and Gabrielle? She is your lover, not I.”
Liar.
Her words had the desired effect. He dropped his hand as if burned and bowed curtly.

Just then her carriage pulled up and Boxer jumped off the driver’s seat. Without a backward glance, Amber climbed aboard and they drove away. Neither she nor Rob saw Abigail at the upstairs window, watching the scene unfold. She smiled quietly and let the curtain fall back in place, shaking her head. Young people could be so foolish. Sometimes they required help sorting out important matters.

The following morning a post arrived for Abigail from Kent, informing her that her middle daughter, Diana, whose baby was not expected for another fortnight, had just given birth. Both mother and the little boy were doing well. With such joyous news, Abigail knew she must leave immediately, in spite of the unfinished task of bringing Robert and Amber to their senses.

Rob arranged for his best sprung carriage and a driver to take his mother home. After promising that he would return to the country as soon as the current session of Parliament ended, he waved farewell to her with profound relief. That left him alone, rattling about in the big city house. Although he had much work to do before the end of the session, Rob found himself unable to concentrate.

All he could think of was his angry parting with Fantasia…and his guilt about Gaby. The madam had been right to reprimand him. He was still plagued by the same dilemma, brought into even sharper focus because of his mother’s meddling. Fantasia would, on the surface of it, make the perfect countess, but the gentle Gaby was the keeper of his darkest secrets, his confidante, his teacher. He wanted to have both women and knew he could have neither.

So he did what he must. He sent a note to Gaby, telling her that his mother had returned home and he would like to see her that night. Would he tell her good-bye? Should he pay Fantasia what was owed and end their association? As his carriage lurched through the foggy night, Rob honestly had no idea what he would do.

When Amber received his note, she was shaken, uncertain if she could pretend to be Gabrielle any longer. Every time she came to him in darkness, it grew more difficult to deceive him. But the hunger he had awakened in her could not be denied. Like a sleepwalker, she went to the secluded chamber, wondering if this would be the final journey. “Far
wiser to end it,” she murmured to herself as she slipped out of her robe and opened the door.

If he would not do it, she would…after one last night in his embrace.

Rob heard her, smelled her soft lilac perfume, and felt an odd combination of lust and sadness assault his senses. “Gaby,” he said hoarsely, reaching for her. At the same time she reached out to him and their bodies entwined in the dark. Their hands caressed while their mouths met hungrily.

Both of them sensed despair in their desire and grew even more voracious because of it. He reached down and cupped her derierre. With her arms clutching his broad shoulders, she instinctively raised her legs, wrapping them around his hips while he backed her against the door. She could feel his hard staff pressing against her mound. He could feel the wet heat of her, opening in invitation. She gave one wriggling twist of her hips to position him.

He thrust.

They gasped in unison, clutching each other tightly, riding hard and fast, kissing feverishly. Her hand raked through his hair, clenching a lock until it stung his scalp, but he felt no pain. He slammed into her as she arched to meet every plunge, her wet flesh clenching to hold him, loath to release him for yet another time. She felt his face buried against her neck where it met her shoulder, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh, but she felt no pain.

When she pressed her back against the door, his hardness started a sudden violent culmination rippling outward from deep within her. She cried out his name, shaking like a sapling in a summer storm. As his staff swelled even larger, stretching her, the spasms of blinding ecstasy swept over him. Within a moment, everything exploded…and he stood with her in his arms. They were both spent, panting, unable to speak.

Holding her, he walked to the bed with their bodies still
joined. Placing one knee on the mattress, he laid her down gently and followed, covering her. He raised his upper body, leaning on one elbow, then ran his other hand over her breasts and up to her face. Cupping her chin, he traced his fingertips over her lips, nose, cheeks, eyelids, and brows.

“You are so lovely, Gaby.” His mouth followed his hand, kissing her softly.

She could hear the sadness in his voice and knew that this would be their last night. A pang stabbed at her heart and she fought the tears thickening her throat.
I intended to end it. Why am I crying?
Gabrielle drew his head down to hers and kissed him with a slower, softer passion, murmuring endearments as he responded in the same manner.

“You are saying good-bye, my brave major.” When he started to protest, she pressed her hand to his lips. “It is all right. I understand. This is how the Fates intended it to be. I am grateful for the time we have had…far more than grateful, for you have taught me so much.”

“You have been the teacher, Gaby,” he said in a husky voice. “Not I.”

“We taught each other, I think, neither of us knowing quite what to do…both wishing to please…and in so doing, being pleased.” She gave a small, sad laugh.

“Oh, Gaby, I will not desert you to spend your life in this place—I—”

“No, no. You are not the kind of man who takes a wife and keeps a mistress. I know you too well. I would never ask it…or wish it. This matter has been explained to me. I understand.”

“But you cannot remain here. I will not let you become a courtesan,” he said firmly.

She could hear the anguish in his voice and knew she must find a way to let him extricate himself. “I will not remain here, my Rob, but return to France. Our king has restored our family’s estates to my cousin Jean Claude, with whom I was
raised. Lady Fantasia sent agents who found him. I will have my life returned to me…and you will begin a new one here in England.”

He caressed her face, trying to gauge the truthfulness of her words. “You are certain…?”

“Yes, I am certain. But before we go our separate ways, there is this…”

His reply was muffled by her mouth. As he returned the caress, their kisses were no longer swift and desperate, but slow and gentle this time. He whispered her name like a prayer. How could he bear to see her go? The thought fled as her cunning tongue insinuated itself delicately into his mouth. His twined with it and the kiss went on, their lips moving over each other’s faces, exploring every nuance. She pressed a puckered nip at the corner of his mouth, causing him to smile. He rimmed her lips with the tip of his tongue and felt her return the smile.

Her hands glided over his back, nails brushing powerful muscles. She could feel his erection hardening once more. Pressing her palms against his chest, she whispered, “This time we do not rush, yes?”

“There is all night…” He felt her soft fingertips thread through the hair on his chest, her palm press against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. To whom did his heart belong? Her? Fantasia? Or, impossibly, both at once? He did not know, nor at this moment, would he think of that. He would think of nothing but pleasing his lovely lady of darkness whose face he would never see, pleasing her for one last time.

“Your hair is like silk…your skin like satin,” he murmured as he ran his fingers through the fragrant tangles of her long tresses and glided his hand over the curve of her hip. He memorized every curve, touched the soft skin of her concave belly, and placed his little finger inside her navel
until she gasped with delight. When he cupped a breast and circled his thumb around the nipple, she moaned softly.

They made unspoken vows with their hands, mouths. Their bodies remained intimately joined as they exchanged murmurs of delight and warmly flowing passion, rushing nothing, exploring everything, each sensation, each response etched in their souls, treasures…perhaps one day to be brought out in dreams to lighten dreary times ahead.

When they finally resumed intercourse, it was spontaneously mutual. Both moved slowly, prolonging the gliding, glistening pleasure that danced between them. They knew each other’s responses so well that every nuance of breathing, touching, feeling communicated to each other what was desired. Go slower. Move faster. Then slower once more.

The climb was steep yet not arduous. With every stroke they rose toward the towering heights as one. When the final culmination blossomed, it was incredibly like the petals of a flower unfolding in spring sunlight. She felt her whole body quiver. He knew he trembled uncontrollably. They floated back to earth gradually, holding each other tightly, speechless, breathless.

Wordlessly, he drew her to his side and pulled the covers over them. They slept for several hours, then made love again. Although the heavy velvet draperies were drawn tightly closed, Amber awakened with the faintest hint of light. Soon it would be sufficient for him to recognize her. It was time to leave…

“Good-bye, my Rob. I shall always love you,” she mouthed, then slipped from the bed as he stirred, vanishing through the door before he came fully awake. Any words exchanged after this would be between the earl and Lady Fantasia. She went to prepare for the inevitable.

As the door closed, Rob sat up in bed, shaking his head. He felt drugged by their passion and its even more incredibly
gentle aftermath. The bed was empty, but he could feel the warmth where her slim body had lain, feel its heat lingering against his skin. The scent of lilacs hung suspended in the air like a promise…but it was a farewell.

Had he only imagined the words of love? Or had she spoken directly to his heart before slipping away? The dawn gave him no answer.

A
mber spent the following day in her quarters, refusing visitors, even Grace and Jenette. A note arrived that afternoon from the earl. He requested permission to meet with her and settle his financial obligations. Steeling herself, she wrote a terse reply, asking him to come the following morning. Saying good-bye once as Gabrielle had been incredibly painful. Being forced to do so twice was cruel beyond bearing. Yet it must be done. She had no choice.

“At least I shall have time enough to repair myself,” she said, glancing at the oval mirror hanging on her bedroom wall. The face staring back at her was chalky pale. Her eyes were red-rimmed with dark smudges beneath them. Biting her lip, she vowed that he would not see her this way. Lady Fantasia must appear to possess a firm, serene confidence. There could be no hiding behind a veil or in shadows this time.

At last she rang for a bath and had a good long soak, applying cold compresses to her ravaged face as she laid her head back in the tub. Finally satisfied that she had done all possible to repair her body, she called Bonnie and requested a dinner tray. Facing Grace and Jeni over the dinner table would have to wait until Rob was well and truly gone. The roasted pork and spring vegetables tasted like ashes to her, but she forced down as much as she could.

Before retiring that night, she took a sleeping draught, something she discouraged any of the courtesans from doing, and never did herself. Tossing and turning fitfully would only leave her in an even more vulnerable state when Barrington arrived.

The day dawned bright and sunny as if mocking her black mood. She selected a dress of buttercup yellow, determined to put on a bright facade for the meeting. Bonnie brushed her hair until it glowed with a deep cherry luster, then arranged it in a smooth chignon at the crown of her head. She wore a simple gold chain around her throat and matching gold earrings.

“Ya look lovely, m’lady,” the girl said when Amber stood before the floor-length glass by her dressing table, inspecting her appearance.

She did not feel lovely, but smiled at Bonnie. “Thank you. Please bring me a pot of coffee and give my regrets to Mrs. Winston and Mademoiselle Beaurivage. I have little appetite this morning but will join them for luncheon. The serving maid bobbed her head and left. Barrington was scheduled to arrive at nine. She prayed he would be punctual as was his normal habit.

At the precise hour, she heard his voice down the hallway. When he knocked on the door, she took a moment to compose herself. Shoving away the ledgers she had been attempting to work on, she said, “Please come in, m’lord.”

Rob looked haggard but had dressed carefully in a black kerseymere jacket and white cravat. The severe clothing only served to make him more handsome than any toff in embroidered finery ever could hope to be. He cleared his throat and said, “Good morning, Lady Fantasia…or should I say, Mrs. Leighigh?”

“Never speak that name again,” she snapped, then could have bitten her tongue. “Please forgive me. I did not intend to be rude, but…the name could pose a danger to me if bandied around.”

Her words were stiff, almost terrified. More of the mystery of her past, the past she refused to speak of. Well enough. He had no right to ask. “You have my word, I will never use it again. Now…” He cleared his throat once more. “I appreciate
your agreeing to see me today. I assume Gabrielle has told you…”

“Yes, she has explained that your lessons are complete. You are to be congratulated, m’lord. We agreed upon a sum that was…rather exorbitant. But you have proven such an apt pupil that Gabrielle has prevailed upon me not to hold you to it.”

He watched in amazement as she tore up the contract he had signed the night she explained about Gaby. “No, that is, I—”

“We are quits, Barrington,” she said with a tight smile. “All is well,” she added more gently. “Please give your mother my regards and explain that I have retired to the country to live in seclusion. I regret any hurt I may have caused her.”

Rob nodded woodenly, hoping that he could forestall his mother temporarily, still quite uncertain about what he himself wanted to do about Fantasia. “I shall convey your good wishes to her…but there is another matter…” He began pacing as he reached into his pocket and extracted a bank draft, almost crumpling it in his haste. Then he spun around and extended it to her.

“I told you, you owe the House of Dreams nothing further,” she said.

“This is not for you, er, for your business…′Tis for Gaby. I…” A wry smile twisted his lips. “This reminds me of our first meeting, how deuced awkward I felt, tongue-tied as a boy in leading strings. I want to be certain she reaches France and her cousin safely. If he refuses to take proper care of her, this will help.” He stepped around her desk and laid the note before her.

She read the amount with raised eyebrows. Money to assuage his guilt? No, she knew him better than that. Without reading the earnestness in his eyes she understood he genuinely cared for his Gaby and wanted her protected, even though he could never see her again. “This is enough for a
woman to live comfortably for the rest of her life. I cannot—that is, I know Gabrielle will not accept it.”

“I insist,” he said stubbornly.

“No—”

Their argument was interrupted when the door to her office flew open and Grace rushed in, her face red with excitement and her eyes wide with fear. She was still wearing a brocade robe and her hair hung around her shoulders in wild disarray. “Please forgive my interruption but—my God, his granddaughter has been abducted! Right in front of her governess—” She broke into tears, something Grace Winston never did.

“Please, Grace, sit down and explain,” Amber said, rounding her desk to reach her sobbing friend. Taking her arm, she helped Grace to the sofa near the door and sat beside her. “Now, whose granddaughter has been abducted?”

Rob walked over to the small pier table and poured a small portion of Amber’s excellent brandy into a crystal glass. He offered it to Mrs. Winston, saying, “Take your time, dear lady.”

Amber nodded to him gratefully and accepted the glass, handing it to the older woman. Grace took a deep, calming breath and raised the glass to her mouth, then swallowed a sip before saying, “Burleigh’s granddaughter has been kidnapped. He is at his daughter’s home on Old Marylebone Road now. His note simply says that Millicent’s governess took the child for a walk in the Old Marylebone Cemetery—′tis been used as a park for several years, you know.”

Rob and Amber nodded as Grace took another sip of brandy, then continued. “Two bully ruffians suddenly leaped from behind some trees and knocked the poor girl down!”

“They struck Millicent?” Amber asked, aghast.

“No, no,” Grace said, shaking her head. “The governess. They then made off with Millicent in front of everyone. That park is filled with nurses and governesses with their
young charges. How brazenly depraved must these savages be to do such a thing? Burleigh knows you have a reliable runner and begs your help,” she said to Amber.

“He will most certainly have it!” She patted Grace’s arm and rose, walking to the wall to ring the bellpull. Then she scribbled a note of explanation, adding the direction of Burleigh’s daughter’s home with instructions for him to proceed there at once. Her footman, Clifton, appeared within a moment. “Please give this to your cousin immediately. We are in desperate need of his services!”

Clifton nodded as he took the note, leaving in considerable haste without asking questions. If the Lady Fantasia said a matter was desperate, that was all that was required. Clyde would know what to do when he received the note.

“Mr. Dyer will be able to locate the child,” she said reassuringly to Grace.
If anyone can!
“Now, you need to lie down and rest. You’re quite overset.”

“I could not rest while that poor little girl is in the hands of fiends who run virgin houses.” Grace’s eyes were cold as she shuddered in revulsion. “I know what sort of men kidnap beautiful young blonde girls—and why, Amber.”

At the use of the name, Rob blinked.
So her name really is Amber Leighigh.
He filed that away for future consideration. “Your fears are well grounded, Mrs. Winston. We shall not attempt to deceive you, but Fantasia is right. You should permit us to handle the matter. I have some knowledge of where such ruffians take children.”

“I am most grateful, Lord Barrington,” Grace replied earnestly.

“What do you know about child abductions in London?” Amber asked him.

“In order to write bills dealing with child exploitation, I have had cause to investigate various of these virgin houses that specialize in auctioning children, boys as well as girls.” He sketched a hasty bow to Grace, then turned to Amber
and said, “I’m going to speak with several people who have given me information about the most infamous bawds dealing in this vile traffic. I shall send word of what I learn regarding the granddaughter of Burleigh—?”

“Chipperfield. He is a baronet from Hereford. You met him at the Chitchesters’ masked ball,” Amber replied.

Rob nodded. “I recall him,” he said. “He and your runner and I would do well to compare information as soon as possible. Time is of the essence.”

“If you become involved, Sir Burleigh will know you are…acquainted with me,” Amber said awkwardly, not wishing to think about the baronet’s shrewd observations regarding her feelings for the earl.

“I do not care. Move to the point, he already suspects,” Rob added obliquely. He reached for the door, then paused. “You have a number of seasoned veterans in your employ. It might be wise to have them prepare for a fight. I shall send word to my staff to do likewise since the authorities will not enter a place of business, no matter the cause.”

With that he was gone. Jenette, who had overheard the last of the conversation, walked through the open door and said to her friends, “He is correct, you know. We must prepare to rescue the child ourselves. What of her father—would he be of any use?”

Grace shook her head. “He is a diplomat, posted to Paris currently. Even if he knew how to fire a pistol, which I warrant he does not, he is unavailable. Poor Pamela, she is quite alone. I wish I could offer her comfort, but…” Her voice trailed away sadly. She was the infamous Mrs. Winston, owner of an exclusive bordello, hardly fit company for a lady.

“None of us may comfort the child’s mother, but we can do more useful things,” Jenette said to Amber. “With the help of your men, you have snatched children from the streets and saved them from horrid fates,
ma coeur.
Now you have not only me to aid you but your earl as well,” she said, looking at
Amber as if daring her to protest once again that Barrington was not
her
earl. When she did not, Jenette nodded approval.

“I shall gather my men, Jeni. Why don’t you see to Grace?” she suggested.

“Will the both of you please desist in speaking of me as if I were not present. I have gathered my wits sufficiently to function. Go about your preparations. I shall await Burleigh and explain about the earl. Now, off with you,” she said, shooing the younger women out of her way as she set the half-f glass of brandy on the table with a sharp click. She rose and headed for her quarters.

Within a half hour, all of Amber’s men from military backgrounds and those possessing other fighting experience had gathered in her office. Jenette stood near the rear of the crowded room. A handful of the men knew she had been a spy for the English during the late war. None appeared surprised to see her there. Amber outlined what had happened and what might be required to rescue the child—if and when they learned where she was being held.

After the men had dispersed to prepare, Jenette remained behind. “I have been thinking…” she said to Amber, but before she could frame her idea, Burleigh knocked on the open door.

When Amber ushered him inside, she could see the haggard bleakness in his usually merry, kind face. The baronet was badly frightened for his only granddaughter, a beautiful child that she and Grace knew he doted upon. “Burleigh, you poor man, we are waiting word from Mr. Dyer. Please, have a seat. I shall send for Grace.”

Chipperfield shook his head. “I have just spoken to her. She is as distraught as my daughter and I. Pamela’s sister is with her and I’ve sent a messenger to Paris to fetch Randolph home. While we wait for Mr. Dyer and the earl to report, there is little else I can do but offer my profoundest thanks for your assistance. Since Pamela is already so overset, I have
asked both of them to return here once they learn anything. I do hope that is all right.”

“Of course, my dear Burleigh,” Amber said, pouring a brandy for him, which he accepted gratefully. “It is a wise idea for all of us to put our heads together once we know where Millicent is being held. We shall rescue her,” she said firmly, trying to convince herself as much as him.

A far calmer Grace reappeared, dressed in a day gown of purple linen, her hair smoothed into a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat beside Burleigh, taking his hand in hers. Amber explained that her men were preparing for the rescue and that she had received a message from the earl’s man Frog, indicating that he, too, had been instructed to marshal further reinforcements.

“All we require now is to learn where our battle will be fought and devise a plan,” Jenette said. “I have snatched innocents from Madame Guillotine on more than one occasion.” She noted Amber’s nod. Her friend had been one such.

They discussed various possibilities for a while, and then everyone lapsed into brooding silence, tense as they waited for the sound of hoofbeats. Several nerve-racking hours passed. Then Amber, who stood peering out the window, saw Clyde Dyer jump nimbly from a hackney coach. As soon as Boxer ushered him into the room, Burleigh said, “What has taken you so long, sir?”

“Well, Your Honor, these things always takes a bit of time. A fellow has to muck about in a few sewers. The governess, she described a little one-armed weasel and a clumsy, carbuncle-faced noddy. Has a good eye for details, that gel. Anyways, I asked about down in the Dials, and found out it were a sorry excuse for humanity called Stump Jenkins and his half-wit chum, name of Corker. They’s been known to snatch more’n one little one off the streets, accordin’ to what I been told. Bein’ as this child is from a good family
and looks like a regular little angel, they’ll sell ’er to a virgin house.”